


Here's A Lullaby

by elesteria



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Horror, M/M, Violence, job gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesteria/pseuds/elesteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has to find Eames in the mind of a psycopath, focused on killing his wife. He doesn't know what to expect at first, but as he goes deeper into the man's mind, he discovers all that he needs to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's A Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> A story that I never posted up here in it's years of existence.

Arthur woke to a scream; a blood curdling, somebody save me, scream. It tore through his system on a wave, ripping past his ears and shivering through his body. His eyes snapped open and he flew up in the bed. Darkness enveloped him and the only way he could orient himself was the rough quilt underneath his hands.

The bed creaked as he pushed himself up, rusted springs and breaking steel. It tried to match the scream that rang through the air, but it fell short. The scream was a high, piercing sound that hung in the air on a single, indescribable note; it was bone chilling, agonized and fearful. It was the sound that a wounded animal made when it was trying to scare away a predator.

It cut off, ringing against the walls, before melding into the silence for a single eerie beat of his heart. The blood rushing through his veins and the light ‘thud thump’ of his heart filled the small silence, before another scream resonated from a small distance away. This time it was higher, more panicked.

Arthur could practically taste the blood on his tongue that a scream like that would cause, leaving the throat raw and aching. It carried on, before it broke, shattering into a thousand fragments that left the air charged and tense.

His mind was a jumble of confused thoughts, of spinning ideas and the scream; it echoed in his head with a shrill call of ‘save me, save me, save me’. He stumbled forward, lacking his usual finesse and grace; his head was throbbing and his focus was nonexistence. A wave of nausea sent him crashing to the floor, hands outstretched to stop himself from falling to the floor completely.

Dirt, dust and something damp and sticky clung to his hands. He breathed in deeply, only to cough at the smell that invaded his nose. It wrapped itself in his lungs, choking him and forcing his body to quiver in a fight for air. It was the smell of blood, death and sex; mixing together into some horrid perfume.

He pushed himself up, hands reaching out to brace himself against the door. He remained still for a moment, catching his breath. He felt dizzy, confused and foggy. The only thing that he knew for sure was that this was a dream, that his team had gone under for a job and that this was not the level that their architect had created.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, studying the door that he was leaning on. The worn surface was spotted with mould and something darker. He cringed, taking his hands off of it and grabbing the door knob. He pulled it open and took a step out into the hallway as quickly as he could.

It was lighter in the hallway, but not by much. He could tell that it was roughly in the same state as the room had been in. His feet scrapped against dirt, rocks and what looked like bone. The walls were brick, covered in a thick layer of ash, blood and more dirt. There were wooden doors with shiny gold numbers on them lining the hall.

He lifted his gaze and stared down the hall, before he started forward, choosing a direction at random and moved towards the first door. He reached for his gun, where it would normally be resting on his hip, but met empty air. His finger’s twitched for the familiar feel of metal in his hands, but he pushed on, because even if he didn’t have a weapon, he had to find the rest of his team.

He opened the first door that he came across, not hesitating. He fell short, breath halting in his lungs at the sight that greeted him. A florescent light swung from the ceiling, showcasing the horror’s that the room held.

A chain fell from right behind the light, pulled taught by the weight hanging from it. The end of the chain looped around two pale wrists, the two delicate hands splayed open, finger’s crooked slightly and nails perfectly shaped. The chain was tight, dark against pale flesh. An industrial grade padlock hung at the front and held the chains together.

The woman hanging from the chain was slim, all long lines of almost translucent skin, marked by the spider trailed network of veins. Her feet barely touched the ground and it had her standing on the tips of her toes. The floor right beneath her feet was cleanly tiled in black and white marble. The tile spread a foot out in every direction, before the tiles melted into the familiar dirt floor.

The woman’s head had fallen forward between her up stretched arms; shoulder’s pulled to the point of dislocation. Her hair created a curtain that covered everything from her navel upwards. She wasn’t moving and she wasn't breathing.

Arthur took a step forward, unable to help himself; transfixed by the image that this woman made against such a starkly disgusting background. She made him realize that the mark had changed the dream, that the mark was the one who had twisted this world so completely. She made him realize that he had missed something in his research, because no normal person would have his projections chained up like this.

He stopped when he was within arm’s reach of the woman, a sudden quiver of fear racing through him. If their mark could do this to his projections, Arthur could only imagine what the mark would do to his team. He knew that he had to find them; that he had to get them out immediately.

He turned to leave, but a light hitch of breath stopped him. He froze, eyes glued to the wall, unwilling to look back to the chained projection. Another small sound and he was turning, facing the woman again. Her fingers flexed and her shoulders quivered, coming to life in an instant. Her head rolled back and she looked up at him with crystalline blue eyes.

“He’s got her. He’ll leave us alone now,” she whispered. Her fingers curled into fists and she threw her head back, exposing the long line of her throat. Her hair slipped over her shoulders, dark locks sliding over her skin like an oily snake. Her mouth fell open and a low scream erupted from her mouth, rising in volume until Arthur had to back away and cover his ears.

He watched as her legs began to shake, as blood began to drip from her lips and dark bruises bloomed across her skin. The blood falling from her mouth increased in volume and suddenly it was pouring from her lips and gliding over her skin. It cut her scream off into a gurgle and she fell slack. The gurgling broke off, her head lolled back and the bruises appearing around her neck darkened considerably.

The light above her flickered, before going out.

Arthur backed away, until his back hit the door. His hand found the doorknob, pulling it open without a thought. He was focused on the woman, but he knew that he had to leave, that he had to get out of here. He had a team to look after; he couldn’t stand here trying to figure out what had happened to the woman or why she was even in the mark’s mind.

He pulled open the door, sliding out as quickly as he could, feet sliding against the dirt. He slammed the door shut, trying to wipe the image the woman had made from his mind, but there would be no way that he would forget that anytime soon. He swore under his breath and looked down the hallway, wondering how he was going to find his team mates.

He didn’t need to find all of them, one would do. If he could wake one of them, he could get them to distribute a kick when they woke. He would normally kill himself and go topside, but he had nothing that he could kill himself with and there wasn’t anything that he could kick himself up with. He couldn’t just use anything at hand, because he had to make sure that he killed himself and didn’t leave himself wounded and useless.

It was then that another scream rose above the silence, sending a chill down Arthur’s spine. He spun in the direction that it had come from, scanning the doors that blended into the walls, almost indistinguishable. He ignored the doors directly in front of him and darted down the hallway, feeling in his gut that the scream was coming from one of his team mates. It hadn’t been close, but it hadn’t sounded too far away either.

Another scream and he could tell that he was close, so very close. The scream cut off and he swore, because silence once again ruined his chances of locating the right door. He dragged in a sharp breath, tasting blood on his tongue and noticed that the sickening smell that he had encountered when he had woken was much worse.

After a moment to think over his next decision, he grabbed the handle of the door next to him and pushed it open. He went in expecting the worst, ready to question the projection about the location of his team or the mark.

There was another woman, under another light that hung from the ceiling. She was sitting in a wooden chair, the floor once again cleanly tiled underneath her.

Her head hung forward as the first woman had been, her long black hair falling and obscuring her front, but he could tell that she was naked. Her wrists were strapped to the arms of the chair and her legs were pinned to the chair legs, splaying them wide. Her skin was pale under the light and he was struck with a sense of familiarity.

Her head rocked back and she looked at him with piercing blue eyes and it hit him. She looked similar to the first woman. Her expression was hard, eyes sharp and calculating. Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips, before she spoke. “He keeps us here to remember what all he's done. We’re different, even if we match each other physically. That’s not why you’re here though, is it?”

“No,” Arthur inclined his head as he stepped forward. There was a sense of defiance to this woman, different than the first woman who had been chained to the ceiling. He knelt in front of her, meeting her hard gaze. He opened his mouth to ask her if she knew where his team was or her creator, but she quieted him with a withering look.

“He has her and he won't let her go now that he has her here. He’s waited, taking substitutes until she arrived.” She spoke, her lips forming the words slowly. It was as if he was supposed to know who she was talking about, this woman that the mark now had. She made a noise of disgust, before speaking again. “Look at me, who do I look like, you fool?”

Arthur studied her face, her inky black hair and blue eyes. He hadn’t focused on the first woman’s appearance, struck by her state more than anything. She had seemed scared and there hadn’t been time to ask her anything, before she had been screaming. This woman was different, her emotions tightly wound and wanting to help him.

He lifted his hand, cupping her chin and tilting her head down to study her. She lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes from his inspection. Her lips parted slightly and she released a sharp breath. Her face relaxed, losing all of its expression. He let his eyes trace her cheekbones, her perfectly arched eyebrows, the slender bridge of her nose and her cupids bow lips.

It took him a while, but recognition did hit him.

“Julia,” Arthur whispered the name in understanding. His hand dropped from the woman’s face and her eyes fluttered open. Her lips pulled into a smile and she nodded her head. In the time that he had been here, he hadn’t had time to try and figure out what was going on, but this woman, this projection was giving him that time.

“We are the substitutes for Julia until he found the courage to face her,” the woman’s shoulders tightened. Her head fell forward and she made a low, uncomfortable noise. Her head jerked back up, meeting his gaze forcefully. “We’re gone, but he keeps the memories of us here, reliving what he did to us. He’s working up the courage for Julia, he’s almost there. Now that she’s here, he’s one step closer. You have to save her.”

“Where are they?”Arthur asked, suddenly desperate.

“They’re two doors down to the left. You’re so very close. He doesn't like us helping you, you have to hurry. Save her, save us.” The woman hissed, eyes flying wide. She threw her head back, like the first woman had, but gritted her teeth. She refused to scream, even as blood began to drip from her mouth. Her limbs quivered and Arthur found himself grabbing onto her hand and squeezing. Her fingers curled around his and gripped tight as she suffered through her death.

When her grip slackened, he stood up and backed away. The light above her flickered out like the light in the first room had done. He lowered his gaze to the ground as he left the silent room and the projection that had been so helpful.

He closed the door quietly behind him, pressing his forehead to it as he quickly went over what he had learned. This was all about Julia, the very woman that had hired them to do this job. She was the wife to their mark, a man who she had suspected of having an affair. They had never expected to find this in his head. A world dedicated to her death.

“Shit,” he whispered. He pushed off of the door, wishing he had a gun on him for this next part. He knew what he was going to find behind the door the woman had mentioned; the woman who had been almost an identical replica of Julia, a victim that their mark had preserved in his memories. From her appearance to her personality, she was what she had been in life, until death. The idea had his stomach churning. He had to find his team mates.

“Eames,” Arthur murmured, because Eames had gone under as Julia.

Another scream tore through the air and he raced down the short distance to the door. He settled his hand on the doorknob, pausing for only a moment. The scream died off and Arthur threw open the door.

The smell in the room was thick and washed over him on a wave. He choked, but what got to him was the sight that greeted him, worse than the previous two doors that he had opened. The light hanging from the roof swung side to side, creating jarring shadows and highlighting the gore that splattered the walls.

A man stood in the centre of the room, back to Arthur and utterly focused on the woman in front of him. She was lying on a bed, covered in white sheets, stained in places with a deep crimson. Her arms and legs were bound to the metal siding. Her expanse of skin was exposed, but unlike the other two women he had seen, hers was marked with deep cuts and marred with dark purple bruises.

The man hovered over the woman, knife in his hand trailing down the inside of her thigh. He seemed oblivious to everything that wasn’t the spitting image of his wife. The woman however jerked into attention when the door opened, her eyes flying open and muscles tensing. She met his gaze, blue eyes standing out against the unblemished skin of her face, before they shimmered to a light grey and then back again.

Arthur hesitated for only a moment, before he was leaping forward, just as the mark raised his knife to plunge back down into the tender flesh of the woman’s thigh. Her eyes flew open and she twisted within her binding, flinching away from the stained blade. The mark was faster than Arthur and the knife bit into flesh greedily.

The woman screamed, arching off of the bed and trying to fight off her tormentor. Arthur was on the man in a second, hand reaching around him to grab his wrist and the other finding its home on his hip. He snapped the man’s wrist back, tearing the knife from the woman’s leg and kicked the man’s legs out from under him in one swift movement.

He listened as the man’s head made contact with the tiled floor, his hand gripping the knife and pulling it free of his slackening grasp. He spun the knife around his fingers, until the grip fit snugly in the palm of his hand and he pointed at the mark, an unspoken threat that if he moved, Arthur would stab him.

“Eames?” Arthur asked, not sparing a glance to look at the woman. There was no telling what the mark would do if Arthur took his eyes off of him for even a moment.

“Fuck, what the hell is this?” Eames asked and it was his deep, lilting voice filling the room. Arthur vaguely wondered why he had remained in Julia’s form in the dream, but that was a question better asked topside. He sounded strained, panting for breath and voice ragged. Arthur cursed under his breath, turning from the mark and sidling up to Eames quickly.

“Wake us up,” Arthur ordered as he brought the knife up to Eames’ neck. He didn’t wait, but moved the blade across his throat as efficiently as one could against such a difficult death. It hadn’t been the ideal way to wake Eames, but in the short time period that Arthur had, it was all that he could do.

He spun around to face the now standing mark, holding up the bloodied knife defensively. The light above them started to flicker, going out as Eames’ life slipped away from him. The mark stared at Eames’ body, confusion and anger written across his face. His eyes glimmered darkly in the dimming light, like two ebony stones.

“She was there, this time it was her. The others didn’t speak like her, so I stopped them from talking, but she talked like her. It must have been her. He’s just an imposter.” He rambled, gaze flickering up to look at Arthur. His lips were drawn down into a snarl and he took a step forward. “You took her away and he helped. You took her from me!”

Arthur swore as the light went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. A clammy hand knocked the knife out of his hand and another landed a punch into his stomach. He stumbled back, blinking into the darkness in an attempt to see. He didn’t have time, before he felt the slick feel of varnished wood under his hands.

:: ::

“Arthur!”

:: ::

Arthur jerked up in his seat, hands flying out in front of him to defend himself from his attacker. The first thing he noticed was that he could see, he could see and the face staring at him was their extractor, Elisabeth. She jumped back with a yelp, but luckily regained her composure.

“Do you know what happened? I came too strapped to a chair.” Elisabeth asked, running a shaking hand through her hair. She shuddered, but Arthur knew that whatever she had witnessed down in that dream hadn’t been nearly as twisted as what he had seen or what had been done to Eames.

“Where is he?” Arthur asked instead and she jerked her head in the direction of the bathroom. The small hospital room they were in was comforting in a way that a hospital never had been before. It was clean, sterile and the lights didn’t flicker.

Arthur stood up from his chair, dismissing Elisabeth to go and see if Eames was okay. He was confident that he knew the reasons Eames had retained Julia’s form in the dream, but he had to make sure with the other man. He had to make sure that Eames was okay.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, choosing instead to push it open and slam it closed behind him. Eames was perched on the toilette, face in his hands and quivering lightly. He didn’t react to Arthur entering the bathroom and striding the short distance to stand in front of him. They said nothing, remaining silent for the moment.

“I’m sorry Eames, I should have known.” Arthur apologized, surprised that his voice sounded so frail. He sunk to the floor in front of Eames, not knowing how to comfort him or even knowing if that was what he wanted or needed. This was a situation that he had never had to deal with before, and it left him on unsteady ground.

“S’not your fault. It’s that bloody bastards fault for hating his wife so much. Fucking psychopaths,” Eames shrugged his shoulders, dropping his hands and finally looking at Arthur. His expression was strained, barely pulled together. “It was harder being her, because she can’t take shit like that. I tried to change back, but the shit he did to me was worse. Believed I took his opportunity to kill his wife from him. That one was a lunatic.”

Eames paused, eyes straying to the wall behind Arthur.

“That wasn’t right Arthur, not one bit. Fuck that knife of his,” Eames hissed, shuddering at the memory. He grimaced and Arthur couldn’t restrain raising his hand to smooth the tight lines of Eames’ face. He leaned into the gentle touch, just what he needed after the brutal things his body had been through. His eyes fluttered closed and Arthur wasn’t sure if the other man knew what he was doing. “She didn’t know what to do and it was easier, but at the same time harder to get lost in her as it happened. I don’t even know what the fuck just happened Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, just traced his finger tips down Eames’ neck and smoothed small circles into his skin. Eames clenched his teeth together and leaned forward, resting his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

Arthur kept up the small, soothing motions as he let Eames find himself again. As he let Eames push loose the memories of wearing Julia’s skin and find his own skin again. He didn’t say that they should be leaving soon, because their mark could wake at anytime, because letting Eames find himself was more important.

This, was more important in that single moment.

_Fin_


End file.
